


Don't ask me

by Zwergenmaedchen



Category: Whitechapel (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Chandler being oblivious, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Idiots in Love, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Protective Miles, So much angst, Virgin!Joe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-18
Updated: 2019-06-18
Packaged: 2020-05-14 04:38:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 15,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19266046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zwergenmaedchen/pseuds/Zwergenmaedchen
Summary: Emerson Kent hasn't said anything in two years. Yet everybody knows how he feels about his boss. So when DI Joe Chandler asks him about a woman, what can he really say?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first ever Whitechapel fic! Hope you all enjoy :) Thanks to everyone on tumblr for your continuous support, this wouldn't exist without you!!!

Chandler seems distracted all evening but it is hardly unusual when they're working a case. It's a small miracle Miles had dragged him out of the office to have a drink with the team in the first place. Everyone but them and Miles has gone home now and Emerson means to say good night as well, but Miles beats him to it. 

'Well, if you're gonna talk work, boss, better get the clock started or I'm going home.' He sneers. 'Come to think of it, don't start the clock, I get enough of that woman by day, I don't want her ruining my nights now, too. Good night, boss. Kent.'

Miles leaves a few notes on the table and they're suddenly alone. Chandler's glass is still half-full, though, and now Emerson wonders if he could just go or if that might make him a bit impolite.

'What do you think of her?' Chandler interrupts his train of thought.

'What do I think of DI Norroy, sir?'

'Yes.'

'She is...efficient, that much is clear, I think.' He doesn't want to say too much, knowing how she talks about Miles, but also how Chandler looks at her.

'Yes, she is very good at what she does, isn't she,' Chandler says thoughtfully. 'But what do you think of her...personality?'

Chandler looks to his hands at the last word, placing the beermats in a line parallel to the edge of the table. They'd been arranged in a neatly formed square before, but apparently that wasn't the right shape. Emerson had seen Chandler fidgeting but only now that Miles has left has he given in to the urge to rearrange them.

Emerson tries to think of any reason other than what he thinks it is that Chandler might ask him about the other DI's personality. He doesn't find one. He lifts his glass to take a sip, buy some time, remembers that it's empty. 

'I'm gonna- ' he starts and points in direction of the bar, means to get up, but he's being interrupted.

'Kent, please. I just need someone to talk to.' Chandler looks up at that, his voice small, his eyes pleading. 'I think you can all imagine I don't date all that often, God knows Miles has been harassing me about it. She, DI Norroy I mean, has asked me out. I don't know if it is a good idea. Since we work together and- Isn't that…' he trails off.

'Sir,' Emerson starts, doesn't know how to continue, takes a deep breath. He feels Chandler watching him, but he's looking at his empty glass.

'I don't think we should talk about this,' he tries again, his voice a little more shaky than he'd really like.

'I can't talk to Miles, he'd sell me to the highest bidder at the first opportunity,' Chandler jokes and Emerson almost laughs, but the smile doesn't reach his eyes.

'You know I only have the team, Kent. And I trust you.'

'Sir, please. You know how I feel. Please don't ask this of me. Talk to Miles. He's not gonna sell you, if you talk to him seriously,' he tries to finish with a joke but it falls flat as Chandler looks at him, confusion written all over his face.

'What do you mean?' Chandler asks, his fingers stilling on the beermat in front of him. 'How you feel about what?'

'Please don't make me say it. I'd better go, sir.'

'No, you don't. Tell me, Kent, what did you mean?'

'You can't ask that of me. You can't ask me if you should date someone else when you know how I've felt about you for years. How I feel about you.' 

He's stood up and stands at Chandler's side, facing away from him. _It's not fair_ he doesn't add, because it sounds childish and because it's true and Chandler probably wouldn't understand it. 

'Please stay,' Chandler asks, a hand reaching out, almost a touch, almost an invitation.

Sitting down, Emerson rubs a tired hand over his eyes.

'I'm sorry, Kent. But I have to ask: How do you feel? About me? Because I don't know.'

Chandler is completely focused on Emerson now, his hands unmoving on the table, his eyes trying to catch Emerson's. 

'How could you not know?' Emerson asks disbelievingly. 'Everybody knows.' He shudders. 'I'm told I'm not exactly subtle. I'm sorry, sir. I never meant to be unprofessional, but I can't help myself.'

'I don't understand,' Chandler says and it seems to frustrate him. 'You've never been unprofessional, Kent. Please just tell me what is going on.'

'I love you,' Emerson whispers, 'sir.' 

And because Chandler doesn't react, still looks confused, still doesn't move, he repeats: 'I love you, sir,' and he looks Chandler straight in the eyes while he tells him.

Chandler blinks once, twice, lifts his glass to his lips and empties it in one go. He sets it down gently, moves it around until it is in the dead centre of his beermat.

'Oh,' is all he says, when he looks at Emerson again.

Emerson waits. He waits for Chandler to say more, to do something but they seem frozen in time with Chandler just looking at him, his brow wrinkled.

After a while, Emerson fishes some notes out of his wallet and lays them next to Chandler's hand, on top of Miles' money.

'Good night. Sir,' he says and doesn't get an answer. 

\--------------------------------------------------

The next day, Kent is sick. Miles informs him when he arrives, jokes about how they must have been drinking too long and 'the kid is probably just hungover.' 

They all know, though, that Kent wouldn't do that, wouldn't call in sick for a hangover. Joe knows that about him, even if he seems to have missed a few other important facts.

When Kent still doesn't show up at work two days later, the team starts to worry. Miles asks Joe over lunch if he's heard of Kent, if he knows more than the rest of them. He doesn't know anything, and he tells Miles as much.

'He was fine on Monday, wasn't he, boss? When we were out? Did he feel unwell, when you two left?'

'I don't think so, no. He didn't seem sick,' Joe answers. 

'Hmh, probably just a stomach bug or something,' Miles mutters. 'I'm gonna check on him later.'

'No need, Miles,' Joe tells him, tells him he'll go himself since he's got the weekend off anyway and nothing better to do. 

He'd declined DI Norroy's offer to cook for him and considering the amount of relief he'd felt immediately afterwards, it has been the right decision. 

They talk a bit about Kent. Miles wants to get him promoted, says he's the right guy for it, that someone will have to take over his own position sooner or later and he'd rather it's young Kent than somebody else he doesn't even know.

'Did you know Kent is gay?' Joe finds himself asking without meaning to. 

Miles looks at him as if he's suddenly wearing a pink dress. He looks down at himself quickly to check his shirt is still its usual white.

'Did he tell you himself?' Miles asks back and Joe nods as honestly as he's able to. 

'Yea, I mean. We all know, don't we?' Miles continues. 'It's not a problem, is it? I told you, me, the team, we don't care,' he says and sends a meaningful glance to Joe.

'I'm not-' Joe starts, but he interrupts himself. Because it doesn't matter. At least it shouldn't. 

'I know, boss,' Miles answers and Joe is glad when Mansell knocks at the door to ask Miles for help with some files.


	2. Chapter 2

Emerson expects the ringing of the doorbell and he pushes the buzzer without question. He grabs his wallet and opens the door to his flat, slightly self-conscious about his worn-down jogging pants and still wet hair dripping down his bare chest, but he figures the delivery people have seen him in worse states when he was still in uni, so it's fine. At least the pants are clean.

Emerson expects the fumbling with the light-switch, the exasperated sighs, because no one has ever gotten the light to turn on in less than three tries the first time they enter this building. It sounds familiar, though, so maybe it's someone who's been here before and just particularly clumsy.

Emerson expects the squeaking of sneakers on linoleum stairs, but it never comes. It's a clicking sound. Who wears heels while delivering pizza, he wonders. When the steps come closer, he realizes that sound is familiar as well. Except it's not a sound connected to pizza, but to work and early mornings, waiting for that clicking on the stairs at the station. Waiting for that sigh to turn into a smile at the suggestion of a new lead.

'Shit,' he curses under his breath and dives back into his flat. He considers closing the door and staying behind it, but Chandler knows he has to be home, he buzzed him in for God's sake. And none of his roommates are home to cover for him. Which Chandler also knows, Emerson realizes with a groan, because he'd told him how he's looking forward to a weekend of having the flat all to himself. 

He grabs a shirt from his dresser and hastily pulls it on before going back to the door. He counts to ten inside his head before stepping into the doorway again.

Chandler is just arriving at the top of the stairs, slightly out of breath but otherwise looking just as good as always, his coat hung over his arm, his suit impeccable. Emerson wants to moan at the mere sight of him. It's ridiculous how much he's missed him, but he's always been ridiculous where Chandler is concerned.

'Kent,' Chandler says when he sees Emerson. 'Are you … alright?' 

Emerson huffs out a laugh, but it doesn't sound like one.

'Can we talk?' Chandler asks, looking everywhere but Emerson's face.

'I guess we have to,' Emerson answers after a while, failing to not sound as apprehensive as he is. 

'Can I come in?'

Emerson colours slightly; he's forgotten they're still outside his flat, just standing, watching the floor. He motions for Chandler to come inside and awkwardly takes his coat. He tries very hard not to think about how good it looks hanging next to his own jacket. How good Chandler look in his flat.

He takes Chandler to the living room, sets two glasses of water on the couch table and waits. Chandler looks around, his fingers nervously fidgeting, his leg bouncing the tiniest bit. Emerson wants to reach out, put his hand on Chandler's knee, make him stop, help him relax, make him comfortable but he knows that is absolutely the wrong way to go about it. 

'So …' Emerson trails off when Chandler looks at him expectantly. What the hell is he supposed to say here? He's said all that matters (to him) and he doesn't know where to go from here.

'The other night … you said-' Chandler starts but Emerson interrupts him.

'Yes.'

'You said that-'

'I know what I said.' He doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want Chandler to say the words. Not like this.

'Why?' Chandler asks, confusion still written all over his face.

'Why did I say it? Or … ?'

Chandler opens his mouth, closes it again, looks down. His ears are pink with embarrassment. He looks so young in this moment, all insecure and helpless. How is it possible that suddenly Emerson feels like the grown-up in the room? 

His heart aches for Chandler, he doesn't want him to be so uncomfortable around him but that's what he did, isn't it? Because he couldn't keep quiet any longer. And he still can't stop himself from telling Chandler everything because the man keeps asking and Emerson has never been able to say no to him, except of course that night in the pub and look where that got him.

'I said it because I had to. You were asking about DI Norroy and- really I thought you knew already. How did you not know?' Emerson sighs. He rakes a hand through his still-wet hair, wipes it on his shirt. 'Doesn't matter. I said it because I would do anything for you, but I can't- I'm not a good man, sir. I'm not selfless.' 

'How long … ?' Chandler asks, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

'I don't know. I mean, I know it's cliché but … pretty much since I met you? That first case. You asked my name and you cared. You always care so much, it's … it's amazing, really. And then, well you know … ' he trails off, his cheeks turning hot at what he almost said. Chandler certainly won't feel more comfortable knowing how often Emerson thought about him, because he's simply beautiful, how often he thought about having him here, exactly here, on this couch, and then, well, having him.

\----------------------------------------------------------

They sit in silence for a long while, Joe avoiding to look at Kent, Kent becoming progressively more fidgety which in turn makes Joe fidget more. He gets up to take off his jacket because he's suffocating. 

Kent gets up with him.

'Are you leaving, sir?'

'Oh. No, I didn't- I was just gonna, because it's quite hot in here, isn't it? That is, unless you want me to go?'

Kent's eyes go soft as he looks at Joe and answers: 'No, of course not.'

Kent takes Joe's jacket without another word and presumably hangs it outside with Joe's coat. He returns through the kitchen, offers another glass of water to Joe. When Joe takes it from Kent's hand, their fingers brush against each other for mere seconds but it leaves a tingle, not even an unpleasant one, and he takes a deep breath, tries to mask how it affects him, but Kent is a better detective than Joe and of course he notices. 

Kent leans back, out of Joe's space and takes a sip of water. He seems to study Joe's face, even though Joe doesn't understand what all there is to see. It's not a harsh gaze. It feels like Kent tries to understand him, to help him be more comfortable. To know him. He can't bear it.

\---------------------------------------

Chandler breaks under his gaze. Emerson sees exactly the moment when it becomes too much for him, when he starts fidgeting again, when he places the glass on the table, rotates it three times, and then three more, tapping out a rhythm with his leg all the while.

'Sir,' he starts, but Chandler doesn't react. 'Boss?' he tries again to no avail.

'Joe,' he whispers. 

Chandler looks up at that.

'Emerson.'

'Yes,' Emerson answers breathlessly. 'You said you trust me. Do you still?' he asks because he has to and because he wants. He wants so much, it's terrifying, but he wants Chandler - Joe - to want the same, so he asks, and he waits.

And Joe nods. 

Emerson leans closer again to stop Joe's leg from bouncing with a hand on his knee. He very lightly rubs his thumb over the side of it to try and ground him.

Joe breathes out shakily, his leg finally stilling. Emerson sighs in relief and sits a little closer to Joe. He touches Joe's elbow, nudges him so they're facing each other.

'Can you even imagine how often I dreamed of a moment like this?' Emerson asks.

Joe shakes his head. His eyes are locked on Emerson's now and Emerson feels suddenly so real, so completely there. He lifts his hand to Joe's cheek, brushes a thumb over his cheek and maybe he's imagining it but he thinks that Joe leans into the touch. He is not stopping Emerson from touching him, even if he's still speechless. 

'Joe,' he breathes, leaning in, not breaking eye contact even though God knows he wants to. He wants to close his eyes and fall and grab and hold and take like he imagined but this is not a dream, this is real and Joe is real and he is terrified of making it all so much worse but he wants so much and if Joe isn't telling him to stop, how can he?

'Joe,' he pleads and then there's a hand on his, soft and tentative. Emerson laces their fingers and Joe sighs. And Joe closes his eyes. Joe closes his eyes and Emerson doesn't wait for another invitation, he leans forward and brushes his lips against Joe's. 

He tries to be soft, and slow. He's waited for so long, he can be patient, he tells himself. But then Joe whimpers against his lips and he can't, he can't, he can't wait any longer. Emerson kisses Joe like he wants to, his hand in Joe's hair, holding him close, sucking on his lower lip, prompting Joe to open his mouth and he licks in, breathes in, touches Joe's tongue. He tastes like herbal tea and Joe and it's better than he ever imagined.

He smells good, too. Emerson knew that but when they stop to breathe he rests his head in the crook of Joe's neck and he inhales deeply, wants to take in all of Joe, wants nothing else but to be completely surrounded by him.

'I love you, Joe,' he murmurs against Joe's skin and it's still not enough. Will it ever be? He wants Joe to understand, needs him to just know that it's true, that there's nothing more true in Emerson's life than loving Joe. 

Joe goes very still beside him, the hand that had been resting on Emerson's waist dropping.

Emerson sits up, takes the hand in his, catches Joe's eye.

'You don't have to say it back. You don't have to say anything, or do anything, or be anything here. But you can't stop me from saying it.' He smiles at Joe. 'Not now that I can.'


	3. Chapter 3

Emerson smiles and it makes him look beautiful. He looks younger again than he did the last weeks. Younger and happier and beautiful. His hair has almost dried and it is a mess of dark curls that makes Joe imagine how it would feel like on his skin.

He reaches out and Emerson blinks in surprise before leaning into the touch. His hair is as soft as he looks in the rosy dusk and Joe's stomach does that flip he knows so well, like when he has to speak before many people or give a report to the commander, but somehow it feels good now.

Trying to communicate without words, Joe lightly draws Emerson closer, because he would love to kiss him again and, thank God, Emerson understands and does just that. He presses against Joe and kisses him deeply, longingly. 

Emerson's hands come up and hold his face and it makes Joe feel small and safe, silly as that may sound. He runs his hands over Emerson's arms and of course he can't be sure, but he's quite sure that Emerson flexes his muscles and he has to admit (if only to himself) that he appreciates that. His sigh must have given away how he feels, though, and the kiss turns sloppy while Emerson presses him back into the couch and climbs over him to sit in his lap. Like this, he has to turn his head up and he feels even smaller, safe in Emerson's strong arms. It's perfect. He tries to think of a reason to leave but he's got the weekend off and Emerson is still technically on sick leave and that is that. At some point they'll have to talk again, but Joe figures maybe it doesn't have to be this evening. Maybe, just this once, he can let it wait and enjoy the moment.

Emerson's breath is hot on his skin as he starts to kiss along his jawline and he is helpless against the moan that escapes him at that. He holds onto Emerson more tightly and tilts his head up for better accessibility. 

They're interrupted by the doorbell and Emerson sits up with a curse.

'Shitshitshit, I forgot I had pizza coming. I'm so sorry, I gotta get that quickly.' He presses a kiss to the corner of Joe's mouth and rushes to the front door.


	4. Chapter 4

It's hard leaving Joe even for a few seconds while he collects the pizzas at the door. They're late, but he tips the driver generously anyway. It doesn't bear thinking about how different the evening would have turned out had he been on time so Emerson can't find it in himself to be mad.

He locks the door again and carries the boxes to the couch table where Joe eyes him and the small tower of cardboard questioningly. 

'Yeah, I know,' Emerson says, 'I wasn't going to eat all of it.'

Joe lifts an eyebrow at him.

'I just like a bit of variety, alright? I was gonna eat pizza for the next two days. But since you're already here, would you like to stay for dinner?'

\------------------------------------------------

Joe stays. The pizza is greasy but tonight he doesn't mind, it's the company that matters and Emerson is perfect. He puts on some music that Joe doesn't know but it doesn't matter, he doesn't listen anyway. He only listens to Emerson tell him about a concert of theirs that he went to and how the singer almost fell off the stage and that's how Emerson got a little scar on his collarbone because he got hit rather unfortunately by the falling mic stand. They laugh and Joe almost asks Emerson to see the scar, but not tonight, not yet.

Emerson is the perfect gentleman, too, when it gets late and Joe says he ought to go. He gives Joe his jacket and then his coat, accompanies him down the stairs to the house entry. He looks a bit out of place in his own house in just his sweats, his feet bare on the cold floor. 

Taking Emerson's outstretched hand, Joe walks easily into his embrace and, without thinking, presses a kiss into his hair. It's so soft and smells like Emerson's shampoo and he stays like this for a while, his nose buried in Emerson's curls, his arms around Emerson's neck.

\---------------------------------------------

Emerson drags himself up the stairs heavily. He puts away the empty pizza boxes, eats the last piece that has gone cold a while ago. He tries to watch some telly, but nothing captures his attention quite like the memory of Joe moaning under him an hour or so ago. He imagines he can still feel Joe's hands in his hair, on his waist. Imagines Joe's beautiful hands all over his body, lifting his shirt, playing with his nipples.

They'll talk tomorrow. Maybe it will never come to this, but while Joe's smell is still fresh in his nose and on his shirt, he'll allow himself to dream again. He runs his hand down the side of his neck and imagines Joe under him, gasping under his kisses. He'd like to kiss down Joe's throat, getting rid of the shirt, and kissing down his toned chest. He's seen him, of course, they all have seen him change his shirt at the station at some point, and he imagines all that hard muscle rippling under his touch and his mouth. His cock twitches at the thought of sliding down the sofa to kneel between Joe's legs, looking up at his flushed face while he unbuckles Joe's belt and slides his trousers and pants off him. Emerson takes his cock in hand inside his pants and whines because he's already so hard. He knows he's not gonna last long with the thought of taking Joe's cock in his mouth, Joe writhing and moaning above him. He strokes himself hard and fast and groans his release into the sofa cushions that still smell of Joe.


	5. Chapter 5

Emerson has to explain to the team why he looks better after being sick for almost a week but eventually they leave him alone about it. 

What they cannot leave alone in the following weeks is how his face lights up with a stupid smile whenever he texts Joe privately under his desk. Joe has it easy, he's in his office where no one can come up at him from behind to try and sneak a glance at his phone but Emerson's almost lost his phone to Mansell - twice - and he changes the contact name of Joe's private phone in case Mansell succeeds the next time. 

They are still Sir and Kent at work, never leaving together, no stolen kisses in the car park (not for lack of trying on Emerson's side), no affectionate touches on long stake outs. They keep it professional because Joe wants it this way and he's probably right, but sometimes Emerson just wants to shove it into everyone's faces how he scored the best man in Whitechapel and how they laughed at his pining for years but he's the one laughing now because he's never been happier.

They are Joe and Emerson when they're home, snuggling on Emerson's couch or watching a movie on Joe's obscenely big tv. Emerson gets distracted ever so often by the mere presence of Joe at his side and they've had to re-watch some films already because he wasn't really following what happened but started kissing Joe at random times. He could kiss Joe for hours and sometimes he does, not caring about Joe's soft laughter when he just doesn't stop kissing him, whether Joe's getting up to get them drinks or trying to read a book in peace. He peppers soft kisses all over Joe's face, his neck, his hands and - on the rare occasion that Joe shows up in a t-shirt - his bare arms, and sometimes he manages to distract Joe from his objective but sometimes Joe just lets it happen and continues what he's doing and that is just as well.

They haven't gone further than that so far and Emerson can't really be sure Joe even wants to go further. He is sure he's never masturbated this much, even as a teenager, but he doesn't let Joe know that. Every attempt at casually bringing up this aspect of their relationship has been met with either a rapid change of subject or Joe feigning (or maybe not even feigning) ignorance at what Emerson was hinting at.

Joe is nestled in his arms reading one evening and Emerson turns the tv off after his show has ended. Joe doesn't notice and Emerson kisses the top of his head. Since subtlety doesn't seem the way to go, he decides to just ask.

'Joe,' he murmurs into his hair.

'Hmh?'

'Joe, have you ever been with someone? I mean, sexually? Have you ever slept with anyone?'

Joe freezes in his arms, his fingers poised between the pages, ready to turn them, but now stock still.

'Hey,' Emerson says calmly, 'don't worry, it's alright. You can tell me.' And he takes book and bookmark from Joe's hands, places them on the table where Joe can see he's put the bookmark in the right way, like he does it himself. He wraps his arms tightly around Joe, kisses his crown again, lingers there. 

'Do I have to?' Joe asks in that small voice that is so unlike Emerson's boss at work and he shouldn't like that but he does because he knows that it's just with him that Joe allows himself to be small and insecure openly and that makes Emerson feel special and - sue him - but he enjoys that.

'You don't have to do anything but you have to tell me something. I need to know … what you want from me. What I'm allowed to want from you, you know? Don't freak out. It doesn't have to be now. I've waited so long, I'm gonna wait with you for a week, a month, a year, however long it takes for you to be ready to tell me what you want this to be and what it means to you.'

Joe is worrying the fabric at his knees and Emerson takes his hands, laces their fingers, holds him, reassures him that everything is alright, nothing has changed, nothing has to change, he just needs to know.

'I have never slept with anyone,' Joe brings out shakily. 

Emerson tells him it doesn't matter and it's fine, it's always new with a new person anyways.

'Look,' he says, 'it's not quite the same but if it helps, I was a rather late bloomer myself. Had my first kiss at 22. It's not so uncommon, you know. It's not easy dating when you're a gay teenager.'

\---------------------------------------------

He could leave it at that, Joe thinks. He could leave it at that because it's almost true and maybe it's true enough. Except of course it isn't. 

'I'm not, though,' he says quietly.

'Hmh?'

'I'm not. Gay. Not like you. I'm- I had my first kiss at 17. She was in my English class and I was very much in love with her.'

He holds his breath. Waits for Emerson's reaction. It doesn't matter, it shouldn't matter, but what if it matters to him?

'Okay, that's- . Okay,' Emerson answers and it sounds painfully neutral. 

Joe disentangles himself from Emerson's arms and sits up, his elbows on his knees. And Emerson lets him. Joe starts to straighten the magazines on the side table, aligns them first with each other until they're perfectly even, then so that the whole pack is parallel to the edge of the table. 

'I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said any- ' he starts but Emerson cuts him off, a hand on his arm.

'No, don't be. I should be sorry. I am sorry. I was just … surprised. I don't mind, if you're worried about that.'

'You don't?'

'No, of course not. So what you're bisexual? It doesn't matter.'

Joe flinches at the word and runs his hands over his face.

'I never- I've never said that. Not out loud.'

He's thought it many times. He thought about saying it, but it never really came up because he never really dated. Never kissed a man before Emerson. So now he's sure that's what he is, why can't he say it?

Emerson pulls him into his side again and peppers his face with soft kisses until Joe melts against him and kisses him back. He knows Emerson wants more, can feel it sometimes. He knows it whenever Emerson's breathing comes faster, harsher and he stops kissing Joe to get a glass of water and sits a bit further from Joe when he comes back, avoids his touch for a while. He's never angry, never pushes Joe, and this is the first time he's outright asked Joe about it and Joe feels like he owes him an answer at least.

'Not today,' he tells Emerson who looks confused. 'I want to, someday. Not today, though.'

'Oh,' is the answer he gets from a wide-eyed Emerson who pulls him into another quick and chaste kiss then.

'I want to do it with you, Emerson. Just you.'

'I sure hope so,' Emerson jokes and it finally breaks the tension between them. They make themselves comfortable on the couch again and Emerson starts flicking through the channels for something to watch. 

He mutes the tv for a moment, just to say quietly: 'You tell me whenever you're ready. For whatever. I'm here, Joe. And I'm not going anywhere.'


	6. Chapter 6

It gets harder to hide from the team, of course. They're detectives and Emerson has always worn his heart on his sleeves so it's no wonder he slips up one day when they ask him to come to the pub in the evening and he doesn't say 'I have other plans' but 'We have other plans'. 

At lunch he just wants to check the time but Mansell grabs his phone and to Emerson's horror it's already unlocked, so he can't stop him from going through his text messages. The rest of the team laugh as Mansell looks for the mysterious lover.

'Found him!' he announces proudly and shows the screen around. 

'Awww, Emerson has a babe,' he teases and while Emerson goes completely red at that, he is certainly glad he changed the contact name.

'Give it back, Mansell,' he groans and tries to get the phone away from him.

'Riley, catch!' 

Emerson watches his phone sail over the table into Riley's waiting hands.

'C'mon guys! Skip?' He looks to Miles for support but Miles just smirks at him and leans towards Riley to get a better look at the screen as well.

'A'ight Kent, I knew you were a sweetheart, but that's just mushy.' Riley turns the phone to show them a message that Kent sent to Joe about how he missed him one morning and wished they could just go to work together and Kent thinks a quick thankful prayer that it wasn't more specific.

'Eh, Kent just wants to show his new lover off to the boss. Hopes he's gonna be jealous probably. But Kent, come on, you know the boss doesn't care.'

'What is it that I don't care about?' Joe asks, looking between them.

'Nothing,' Emerson says emphatically, willing Joe to ignore it for now, sends him a telepathic message to drop the subject and he'll just tell him about it later.

Surprisingly, Joe doesn't get it.

'Well?' he asks and Mansell laughs dismissively.

'It's nothing really, sir. Kent was just telling us about his new boyfriend, is all.' 

He has the gall to wink at Emerson at this and finally tosses him his phone again. Emerson quickly slides it into the inner pocket of his jacket.

'I was not telling anyone anything, sir!' He kicks Mansell under the table and mouths 'shut the fuck up' at him where Joe hopefully doesn't see it. He doesn't want him to worry about the team, knows how important it is for him to keep this private, between just the two of them. 

It's too late though. Joe's ears get a pink tinge and he looks at a loss for words. Thankfully, most eyes are focused on Emerson, so they won't see that. Miles looks between the two and apparently decides they had enough fun for today, sends them back to their work and accompanies Joe into his office.

\-----------------------------------------------

'What's going on, boss?' Miles asks, eyeing him suspiciously once they have closed the doors and are sat at his desk.

Joe takes off his watch, aligns it with his phone and his notebook on the desk, tries to think of something to say.

'You … you were right there, Miles. You know more than me.'

'Bullshit. You think I don't know you better by now? You know something. What's going on with the kid?'

Joe is certain he has turned red in the face by now. Miles calling Emerson a kid doesn't help with that. He knows it's wrong on many levels but it works out well for them so far and he doesn't want to lose that. 

When Joe doesn't answer, Miles sighs exasperatedly. He looks out the window and Joe follows his gaze to find Emerson staring right back at them and Miles looks between them again. Joe nudges his phone a little to the left, but it's not right, nudges it back, but he doesn't seem to get it centered, really.

Miles watches him for a moment.

'Can I borrow your phone for a second, boss?' he asks and Joe instinctively grabs it harder.

'Uuuh … '

'Alright, enough of this.' Miles gets up and Joe panics when he opens the door and calls for Emerson to join them.

Emerson enters the office already looking guilty and Joe knows they both don't stand a chance against a Miles who's set his mind on finding them out.

\-----------------------------------------------

Miles face is unreadable, but Joe's behaviour tells Emerson enough to know they're in deep shit. Joe is rubbing tiger balm on his temples and looking up at Emerson helplessly. He wants to hug him but the blinds are open and Miles is right there, so he tries it with the telepathic message again, telling Joe it's gonna be fine, they've been so careful. Joe just shakes his head at him.

'Sit, Kent,' Miles says and Emerson obeys while Miles stays standing above them both.

'So, you and him?' he asks, looking at Emerson for the answer. 

'Skip-'

'How long?' Miles asks, tone and expression completely neutral.

'Few weeks,' Emerson answers at the same time Joe says: 'Two months and three days.' 

Emerson looks to Joe, touched by the accuracy but not surprised at the same time. Joe's hands are twitching on the desk and he looks like he's suffocating. Miles be damned, Emerson thinks and gets up to quickly close the blinds. He stands behind Joe's chair and lays his hands on Joe's shoulders, squeezing lightly to ground him. Joe looks up at him, looking so lost and because it doesn't matter anymore, Emerson leans down to press a quick kiss to Joe's head, brushes his thumb over his cheek.

Emerson looks up at Miles then, defiantly.

'Yes,' is all he can say and he stands upright again, but he stays at Joe's side, keeps his hand on his shoulder, keeps them connected, grounding each other, because he can't leave him now, for both their sakes.

'Okay,' Miles says and sits down heavily in the other chair.

'Okay?' Emerson echoes after a while because Joe seems to have lost his voice.

'Yeah, I mean. Good for you, kid.' Miles smirks up at him. 'I wish you two would've trusted me with this, though. You're gonna need us all if this ever gets out. It's gonna be a shitshow, you know that, right?'

Emerson nods. Joe reaches for the glass of balm again, but Emerson stills his hand, presses a kiss to his palm and keeps holding it in his own hand.

He knows Miles is watching them but he can't bring himself to care anymore. He looks back at him, daring him to say anything, but thank God he doesn't. 

Joe settles after a moment of silence between them.

'Miles,' he starts, interrupts himself to indicate to Emerson he's alright and Emerson takes a seat next to Miles, already missing the contact.

'Miles, I'm sorry we didn't tell you sooner. It's not a matter of trust, I promise. You know I have … issues. I just needed. Time. I always need time. I'm sorry …' he trails off.

'You're alright, Joe. No need to apologise,' Emerson cuts in before Miles can say anything. 

Miles looks at him with a strange look like maybe he's proud of him? And that's not at all the reaction Emerson expected but he's glad Miles is taking it so well.

'So, boss,' Miles says, his attention now on Joe, who shrinks under his gaze, 'you know I'm gonna end you if you hurt the kid, right? If you break his heart, you know I could. And nobody would find out … you know I have the connections.'

He looks dead serious and Joe looks to Emerson for help.

'Skip, please,' Emerson groans, his face in his hands, 'I'm not a child!'

'Yes. Yes you are! Now shut the fuck up, the adults are talking.' He turns his gaze back on Joe, who looks terrified.

'He's just kidding,' Emerson tries to reassure him.

'I'm not,' Miles cuts in. 'For years I've watched Kent be miserable because you didn't notice him. And when you cut him off after the Krays … I thought I'd never see him smile again. And now look at him. I've never seen him so happy. Don't you dare break him!'

Emerson is stunned into silence by Miles' emotional outbreak. 

'I won't,' Joe answers just as seriously. 'I won't ever hurt him,' he says, but he looks at Emerson. 

'That's all I wanted to hear,' Miles says and gets up. 'Now, why don't you two go follow some leads,' he puts in air quotes and looks between them with a smirk, 'for the rest of the afternoon. Honestly, look at you, you're in no state to work.'

He's almost out the door, when he turns back and says: 'I'm not gonna say anything. But don't think you can keep this secret for much longer. You better tell the team. It'll only help you, I promise, boss. We all only want the best for you, you should know that by now.'

\---------------------------------------------------------

Joe decides to take Emerson home. Miles is right, he's not fit to work the afternoon, and neither is Emerson. They're both still coming down from the shock of the reveal and Miles' reaction.

They get take out on the way and Emerson is putting everything on plates when Joe asks him: 'So Miles knew? About your feelings?'

Emerson laughs and takes his hand, kisses it, holds it to his heart, pulling him into a hug. Joe lets him. He rests his cheek on Emerson's curls and sighs.

'I told you,' Emerson says and lifts his head, puts his fingers under Joe's chin and tips his head so he can kiss him, 'everybody knew. Joe, I've been madly in love with you for two years! How could I hide that? You are the most incredible man I've ever met. You're kind and generous and precise and diligent and you're bloody gorgeous!'

Joe feels his cheeks heat up but Emerson looks at him with big eyes and an even bigger smile and he can do nothing but smile back and hope he can ever be worthy of Emerson's praise and attention. And love. 

'Emerson,' he says, his heart beating faster, his fingers fidgeting with the seams of Emerson's sweater, but he stays calm, keeps holding Emerson's gaze and continues, 'I think I'm. I mean I know. I want to tell you. I love you, too, Em.'

Emerson hugs him so tightly, Joe can hardly breathe for a moment, but it's worth it to see his face light up with joy and relief at his statement, before he kisses Joe again, pushes him into the counter, presses their bodies together. 

Joe sighs into the kiss and follows Emerson's lead when he deepens it.

'I love you,' Emerson whispers between hot kisses to his neck.

'I love you,' Emerson pants when Joe pulls him even closer, because he wants to feel Emerson against him, doesn't want him to go this time, so he holds him, keeps him.

\---------------------------------------------------

'I love you,' Joe says into Emerson's hair and his whole body shivers where he's touching Joe's. He wants. He wants and wants and wants and he seriously needs to cool down before he can't stop himself anymore. 

'Joe,' Emerson warns, tries to take a step back, but Joe won't let him.

'I love you,' Joe repeats. 'I want you,' he whispers into Emerson's ear and Emerson just about manages to keep a high whine from escaping his mouth. He cups Joe's face with both his hands, looks him in the eyes.

'Yes?' he asks.

'Yes,' Joe answers without hesitation and hurries Emerson back into their kiss.

He's hungry, careless with his teeth, and so is Emerson. They kiss sloppily while Emerson leads Joe to the bedroom step by step, never once breaking contact. Joe clings to him, hands firmly on his waist, and Emerson sits him down at the bed, bends down to lean over him.

'Let me … ' Emerson trails off when Joe nods and he loosens Joe's tie, pulls it off and hangs it over the back of the chair in the corner neatly. Joe's eyes are warm and Emerson strokes his cheek before leaning down again, starting to unbutton Joe's shirt. He's seen him without it a few times, when he stayed at Joe's for the night, but he has never been allowed to touch and now he lingers on every centimetre of skin that he uncovers. He trails his fingertips over Joe's neck and Joe shivers, his hands twitching on Emerson's waist. 

'You know you can also touch me, right Joe?'

Joe nods but there's a hint of relief in his next breath, as if he hadn't really been sure and Emerson needs him to know that it is alright, it's good, it's everything he ever dreamed of.

'Touch me, Joe. Please.'

Joe brings his hand to the side of Emerson's face in a shy caress and Emerson turns his head, peppers his palm with kisses. He takes Joe's hand, bring it up to his own collar, encouraging him to help him undress. Joe's touches get less tentative after a while of Emerson just waiting patiently, letting Joe work through his anxiety on his own time, encouraging him with soft spoken words. 

Joe's hands are hot on Emerson's body, he's stroking his fingers over his collarbone. Emerson gasps when Joe leans down to press his lips softly on the scar there. 

'Em,' he whispers, hides his face in the crook of Emerson's neck. 'Em, what do I do now? I don't know how to- what to …'

'Just … let me?' Emerson asks, suppressing a sigh. It's hard to feel desired when Joe doesn't know how to show it, doesn't know how to deal with it. Joe nods and Emerson takes his shirt off, drapes it over the chair next to Joe's. 

He pushes Joe back to lie on the bed, lies next to him. He licks his lips at the sight of Joe stretched out, pale and lean on the dark sheets. The self-conscious flush in his cheeks is a pretty contrast and Emerson reveres it with a kiss.

It's too good to be true, Emerson thinks, having Joe like this, but at the same time it's not enough. It's not enough because Joe isn't moving, he isn't doing anything of his own accord, and Emerson tries to coax him to interact, to touch, to do anything but lie back and let it happen, but apart from a few shy touches to his bare arms, nothing is different than all their other kisses before. He groans in frustration.

'Fuck's sake, Joe! Do you even want this?' 

Joe just looks up at him, wordlessly. He reaches out a hand towards Emerson's chest, but he's shivering and Emerson recoils.

'No. Fuck no. Don't do that now,' he spits. The confusion on Joe's face makes it hard to look at him, so Emerson doesn't. He sits at the edge of the bed, his back to Joe. Tears are prickling at the corners of his eyes and he grinds the heels of his hand against his eyes to prevent them from falling. This is not what he wanted. This is humiliating. He's never had a partner so unenthusiastic to be with him before. And it doesn't make sense. Joe started this. Joe said he wanted this. 

'I'm sorry, Emerson.' 

He turns around at the whispered words and finds Joe sitting against the headboard, his long legs folded up against his chest, his arms around them, tightly hugging himself, white-knuckled and teary-eyed.

'I'm so sorry. I didn't want to disappoint you. I thought I was … thought we could … '

He can't even say it, his eyes downcast to where his nails are certainly leaving imprints on his thighs. He can't even say it, and yet Emerson has just taken him at his word. 

Emerson swallows, struggles to get the words out without sounding too harsh.

'No I'm … I'm the one who should be sorry. I'm sorry, Joe. I'm so so sorry. Shit. I wasn't thinking. I'm just. Shitshitshit. What can I do?'

It's a pointless question but he has to ask anyway. Joe won't tell him anything now. Emerson wants to grab his hands, help him relax again, wants to hold him, save him. Except he doesn't know if his touch would be welcome and he doesn't trust Joe to tell him the truth right now. So he waits.


	7. Chapter 7

Hot tears streaming down his face, Joe is chewing the insides of his cheeks, searching his mind for a way out of this situation. He's peripherally aware that Emerson is talking, but his own mind is louder. He's going to lose him. He's going to lose Emerson, and if Emerson tells anyone what happened tonight, he's going to lose his team as well. He's going to lose their respect, their acceptance of his oddities, and then how could he lead them? He remembers Miles' earlier outburst and an involuntary sob breaks from his mouth. Not because he really believes that Miles would hurt him. Well, not mortally at least. But Miles is the closest thing he has to a friend and knowing that he'd choose Emerson over Joe isn't exactly surprising, but also not at all helpful in this moment.

'Joe!'

Emerson's shout finally breaks through his thoughts and he looks up instinctively. 

'Thank God,' Emerson sighs and Joe has to wonder how long he has been trying to get his attention. 

'Joe, look at me,' Emerson commands. 'Are you listening?'

Joe nods.

'I'm not leaving. We are not over. This is not a catastrophe. Joe. Look at me! I love you. Nothing has changed. I love you and I'm still here and I will stay here. If you let me.'

Joe cries harder. He wants to reach out to Emerson, wants to say something, but his tongue is leaden and his arms are locked in place. He can't move, feels like he might fall apart by lifting even one finger from its current position. 

Emerson is right in front of him, so close, but he feels worlds apart from him.

'Hey,' Emerson says and his face is softening. 'Can I hold you? I think you might really need a hug right now but if you're not comfortable with that, I can just stay here. Or I can go, if that's what you want?'

Joe shakes his head, realises that doesn't answer Emerson's question at all. 

'Stay,' he manages between a few shaky breaths. 

'And d'you want me to hold you?' Emerson asks, seemingly relieved Joe didn't send him away.

Joe nods and Emerson is there immediately. He scoots up to the head of the bed, sits next to Joe and pulls him into his side. Joe loses the grip he had on his legs and only now does he realise how strained his hands have been. He flexes them a few times to get feeling back into them and Emerson takes them, kisses them. He curls up against Emerson and lets himself be held, be comforted. 

'I'm so sorry,' he repeats. 'I don't know what I'm doing. Don't know what I'm supposed to do.'

'Shhh, don't be sorry. There's no need. It's alright. Everything's alright, baby.'

\-----------------------------------------------------

Very slowly, Joe's breathing calms down. Emerson keeps his nose buried in Joe's hair, comforts himself by Joe's familiar smell and his proximity.

'Didn't mean to push you,' he murmurs.

Joe turns his head up for a kiss and Emerson sighs. It feels like coming home, like they are them again.

'You didn't push me. I- I tried to push myself. I want to be better for you, Emerson. This is not what you deserve. I know you need more and I want to. No, I do, really.'

There is so much wrong in that and Emerson doesn't know where to start unpacking the mess he made. It's not that he doesn't want more, God he does. He wants and wants and sometimes he can't sleep with Joe by his side because he's aching with want but he finds it never matters. It never matters because what he really wants is Joe and whatever Joe wants to give him, not one bit more. And if they start and suddenly Joe wants to stop, it is not Joe's fault when he's having trouble with that. It's not Joe's responsibility, either.

'I don't need anything, Joe. Not anything as long as you're mine. We can do nothing more than this and I'll be alright. We're alright,' he says and finds it true. It's strangely calming, his heartbeat slowing to a more reasonable pace. 

'I'm yours?' Joe asks, confusion wrinkling his brow.

'Of course! Baby, what did you think I meant when I said I love you? You're mine and - if you'll still have me - I'm yours. I love you, Joe. I love you.'

Joe has started kissing him halfway through and he's not sure how much Joe has actually understood, how much he'll remember the next time they end up in bed together. That is, if there is a next time. Fuck, but he hopes there will be.


	8. Chapter 8

Joe leaves it to Emerson to tell the rest of the team of their relationship. He just sits next to him and avoids everyone's eyes when Mansell whistles approvingly and enthusiastically claps Emerson's back. Emerson winces and Joe reaches out a hand to comfort him.

He only realizes what he's done when everyone falls silent and he looks up to find their eyes glued to where his hand rests on Emerson's thigh. Quickly covering Joe's hand with his own, Emerson smiles at him.

Clearing his throat audibly, Miles turns back to the barbecue and starts filling all their plates with steak and sausages.

'Help me with the bread,' he half asks, half commands Joe, so he follows him into the kitchen. 

When Miles ignores the bread in favour of turning to face him, he gets a bit nervous. He thought they'd been over this and Miles would be alright with them being together. But maybe that's the point. Maybe Emerson told him everything and now Miles is gonna make true on his promise, because Joe knows he's hurting Emerson and Miles can't like that and-

'Joe!'

Miles' voice shakes him from his thoughts and he shakes his head at himself. 

'Sorry. What were you saying?'

'I was saying, I'm very happy for you, boss. You and the kid. I can tell you really like him, right?'

Joe nods. Even thinking about Emerson like this makes him feel all soft and he suspects Miles can see it. 

'I'm glad. He's good for you, I think.'

Joe can only agree and suddenly Miles wraps him into an awkward hug, claps his shoulders twice and lets go again.

'Was that a hug?' Joe asks, laughing.

'Absolutely not,' Miles grumbles and takes the bread outside.


	9. Chapter 9

It was exhausting, for both of them, Emerson thinks when he looks down at Joe dozing in his arms later that night. He brushes a strand of Joe's soft blonde hair from his forehead and Joe sighs contently.

'Hey,' Emerson whispers, 'don't you think we should go to bed? Or do you want to sleep on the couch?'

'I's fine.'

'You say that now, but tomorrow you'll be complaining again, old man.'

'Hey!'

He easily catches Joe's hand when the other tries to lazily swat at his arm, using it to pull Joe into a sitting position. Joe blinks at him, his weight heavy in Emerson's arms and Emerson knows exactly what he's doing, but not tonight. His legs are bothering him already, he will not fall asleep in jeans on the couch when there's a perfectly comfortable bed and soft pyjamas waiting for him just next door. 

'Come on, baby,' he pleads. 

'I'm coming. Go on, I'll be right behind you.'

Joe sounds almost awake so Emerson leans in, rubs his nose against Joe's, steals a quick kiss, and leaves him to get ready for bed.

When Joe joins him, hair still wet from his shower, he looks thoughtful. He lies perfectly still on his pillow, his fingers tapping a rhythm that Emerson doesn't recognize against the duvet. Emerson waits. 

\-----------------------

Joe has to repeat the pattern eleven times before he is finally able to break it. He breathes out a sigh of relief, turns onto his side and apologizes to Emerson. Again. He's always apologizing to Emerson and the younger man never accepts it. Instead, he kisses Joe. When Emerson kisses Joe, Joe can sometimes forget about everything else. When Emerson kisses him, he feels safe. He feels completely safe tonight in Emerson's arms and he rests his forehead against Emerson's.

After a while Joe thinks maybe Emerson has fallen asleep, but when Joe whispers his name, his eyes immediately spring open. There is a raw fondness in Emerson's gaze that cuts right through all his self-doubt and denial, and for the first time he really understands. He believes. 

'You love me,' he says, no rising voice, no question, a simple statement.

'I do,' Emerson confirms in the same serious manner, though his face lights up with a brilliant smile afterwards.

'Let's try again,' Joe suggests and presses his lips to Emerson's, slides his tongue into his mouth. By now he knows what Emerson likes, what makes him moan and shiver even under his shy touches. He uses that, tries to get Emerson on top of him, but Emerson stops him with a hand to Joe's chest, breathing heavily, eyes still half closed in bliss.

'Try what?' he almost purrs and he looks absolutely indecent, his dark curls splayed around his head on Joe's white sheets, the t-shirt he borrows from Joe whenever he sleeps here sliding off his shoulder, revealing skin that Joe would love to be kissing right now, but Emerson makes him talk. Brushes his thumb in maddening circles over his chest, but refuses to be uncertain in this matter, inclines his head and waits for Joe to say the words.

'I want to,' he starts, runs a hand over his eyes, starts again. 'I want to sleep with you, Em. If you want to, of course.'

‘If I- of course I want to. I love you, you sexy dumbass.'

Absently, Joe thinks that maybe he should be feel insulted but then Emerson is kissing him again and he doesn't feel anything but Emerson's lips on his, his hands in his hair. Sliding his hands down Emerson's sides, Joe holds onto him, rolls him on top of him. All breath leaves him at once when their groins come in contact and he knows he's embarrassingly aroused already but he doesn't care, it feels so good.

'Emerson,' he sighs and maybe he's pleading for something but what exactly he can't even tell. He just wants and that is such a new sensation, it prickles all over his skin, heats him up from everywhere that Emerson is touching him, kissing him, holding him close.

\----------------------------

Joe is writhing underneath him, his cock already tenting his pants and it's all Emerson can do not to rut into him then and there. Instead, he leans up (to a highly dissatisfied sound when he stops kissing Joe) to pull his shirt off, folding it as neatly as possible in the air and laying it on the nightstand his side of the bed.

Joe looks at him longingly and Emerson lets him. He's not rushing this. When Joe lifts his hands to run them over his chest, his arms, his abdomen, he sighs blissfully, arches into the touches, let's him explore in his own time.

It's only when Joe's touch becomes firmer, when he rubs Emerson's nipples with obvious intent, that Emerson gasps and leans down again to capture Joe's mouth in a messy kiss first, then dragging his lips down his neck, his shoulders, his chest. Joe is panting, his hands now running up and down Emerson's back, his hips thrusting up instinctively to create some friction for his cock rubbing against Emerson's abdomen. Emerson reaches between them to take hold of Joe through his pants and he can't tell who moans louder at that: Joe, because of the added contact, or Emerson, because he'd suspected as much - dress pants aren't exactly subtle about these things - but Joe is indeed huge. He strokes him lazily, keeping in mind that it's his first time and he doesn't want it to end too quickly, though he has to admit he's awfully hard himself already.

'Can I take this off?' he asks Joe, waits for a definitive nod before climbing off him and stripping first himself and then Joe of their pants, hanging them over the chair. He keeps his back to the walls instinctively, but in his haze Joe doesn't seem to notice. He's lying on the bed, his face red and his pale chest rising and falling rapidly with loud breaths, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides (but not in any recognizable pattern, so Emerson deems it safe to go on), his cock twitching and leaking pre-cum into the soft blonde hair at its base. He is just absolutely gorgeous. Emerson kneels between Joe's legs, asks him to spread them wider, asks him if he'd let Emerson taste him and, blushing even harder, Joe moans 'yes' and lets his head fall back hard into the pillows.

The frantic whimpers Joe makes when Emerson swallows around him go straight to Emerson's own cock and he reaches down to take himself in hand. He tugs at his own cock roughly while swirling his tongue around Joe's with much more finesse. Joe can't keep his hips from thrusting up, but Emerson doesn't mind, he is turned on by Joe's obvious arousal, his obvious enjoyment of what they're doing, more than anything else.

Joe's hand is in his hair, pulling lightly, when he pants: 'Em, I can't- I'm gonna- ' and he whines in frustration when Emerson pops off his cock to shuffle up his body, kneel over Joe's body, and take both their cocks in hand. He knows he's being selfish, he could've let Joe cum in his mouth, but he wants to see him the first time, wants to cum with him and he's so close himself, he groans and strokes them both together. Joe is bucking up into him wildly and he steadies himself with a hand to Joe's chest, looks down at where they're both joined and it almost takes him over the edge.

He tells Joe, tells him how hot he looks, how he's the most beautiful man he's ever been with, how he wants to be with him like this forever, and then Joe shouts his name, his cock pulsing in Emerson's hand, his release shooting up between them and that's all it takes for Emerson to follow him, leaning down to catch Joe in a bruising kiss while he empties himself, their spend mixing on both their stomachs.

He collapses down on Joe and the other man doesn't seem to mind, he keeps whispering Emerson's name, running his hands over his back and through his hair, kissing everywhere he can reach without letting go of him.


	10. Chapter 10

Emerson feels a lot heavier than he looks but Joe doesn't mind, it feels like a safe weight to keep him from floating away. He buries his hand in Emerson's dark curls, holds him close, breathes in the smell of his shampoo and Emerson and sex.

The stickiness between them starts to bother him much later than he would have expected it to, but eventually it does. Joe nudges Emerson's shoulder to get him to move. Emerson doesn't seem inclined to get up, though. He tries again but Emerson only slides up a bit to nuzzle his face into Joe's neck and press sloppy little kisses there.

'Em,' he whispers, uncertain if the other man is even fully conscious still. He doesn't get an answer.

'Em, I have to …' he tries again.

Emerson mumbles something that Joe doesn't understand and he tries to move Emerson but without his cooperation he's like lead on Joe's chest.

'Emerson,' he says, a slight tinge of panic in his voice. He has to get up, has to clean himself. He doesn't want to hurt Emerson though, and the other man is still not moving. Joe can feel his heartbeat picking up, tries to tell himself it's okay, but he can't breathe suddenly and Emerson is still not moving.

'Get off of me,' he cries out in a last bout of desperation before he has to throw Emerson off the bed to get to the bathroom.

Emerson looks at him wide-eyed and scrambles to get away from him, hurt written plainly on his face, but Joe can't care about that now. He springs off the bed, finds his way to the bathroom blindly and shuts the door with a bang. He's running his hands through his hair while turning on the shower and then stepping underneath the ice cold spray. The visible traces of their spend rinse off slowly and he scrubs at his belly with a cloth over and over again, until the water is finally running hot and he calms down enough to wash his hair and the rest of his body. 

He dries off, leaves the towel over the heater and stands at the sink to brush his teeth. He can't meet his own eyes in the mirror, looks to the door instead. Imagines Emerson sitting on the bed, hurt and left alone by the man who told him he loves him. Imagines him crying. Imagines him leaving, imagines coming out of the door to find the room empty, because surely this was unforgivable, Emerson couldn't put up with this behaviour any longer.

Swallowing thickly after rinsing his mouth, he lays a hand on the door handle. He doesn't touch the light switch, afraid of getting stuck in a loop. 

Emerson is still there and he breathes a sigh of relief before hurrying over to Emerson's side of the bed and falling to his knees in front of him.

'I'm sorry,' he says and presses a kiss to the only body part that he can reach from here, which turns out to be Emerson's knee. 'I'm so sorry, Emerson. I didn't mean to- I just had to go. I couldn't stop myself. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry. Please don't leave me. I'm so sorry, Em.'

\----------------------

'Joe …' he starts off and he doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to react when Joe is kneeling at his side, begging him not to go and he doesn't even want to go, not a bit, but he's hurt and he doesn't know how to tell Joe without hurting him as well. It's not fair, he thinks, not for the first time. It's not fair that Joe has to live with these issues and now Emerson is the one crying. It's selfish. He wants (his boyfriend? partner? boss?) Joe to hold him and understand him without words, wants him to be able to stay with him all night, not shower for half an hour at 2 AM just because they had sex. And Emerson knows, he knows that this is not very likely to change. This is Joe. This is what he does and how he deals with stuff. But Emerson isn't used to being the more experienced one in a relationship. He's almost always been with older men and he liked it that way. Likes it still. 12 years isn't a small age gap by any definition. But with Joe, it's so different. He's brilliant at work, a true leader, a visionary and on good days (and when he deems the occasion safe, like when they go out for dinner) he's the same privately. Emerson loves to hear him talk about politics, history, poetry, and all kinds of stuff he doesn't know anything about. But when it comes to their relationship, Joe is just so fundamentally insecure, referring to Emerson in all things, asking for his approval time and time again. It's exhausting sometimes.

'Joe,' he repeats, 'I'm not going anywhere. It's alright. I know you didn't mean to.' His voice is static, he knows that, but inflection is for sincere emotions and this is, while not a lie, not completely true either. It's not alright. But he's not leaving either.

'It's not alright. You don't have to- I know I'm not easy, Emerson. But I'm not a child. Please, tell me when I've done something wrong.'

'It's not your fault. And it's not wrong. If you need to shower, then of course you can do that. I shouldn't bother you about that.'

'No, but nevertheless I hurt you. Intended or not. And I'm sorry for that. I just. I cannot promise it won't happen again, you know that.' 

'I know, baby, I know. But- the thing is, you know, you can't expect me to not be hurt. When you need one thing and I need another, we can only try to … I don't know … understand each other? But it's gonna hurt sometimes. We can't change that.'

He wonders if Joe really never considered this aspect of a relationship. Or if he just never considered relationships at all. Probably the latter. But now he's in one and a complicated one at that. Complicated circumstances, complicated people. It's not gonna be easy and he needs to know that.

'Just …' Emerson sighs. 'Just try to talk to me before it becomes a crisis, alright? And I'll try to listen better.' _even when you're not talking_ he doesn't add. He's going to have to be more observant, then, he thinks. 

'Alright.'


	11. Chapter 11

After a while, sleeping next to Emerson becomes so easy, much easier than he could have expected. He is quiet and doesn't move around much at night. He doesn't care if the lights are on or off, if Joe still wants to read or not; he's just there. Joe looks up from his book to study Emerson's profile. 

He'd never say it to the man while he's awake but Emerson is quite simply cute. His curls, his (now closed) eyes, his nose, his smile. He is so cute and Joe is probably too fond of him for any of their well-being but he can't help it. 

The book can't hold his interest for long tonight and he notices immediately when Emerson starts getting restless, kicking his legs, his face contorted in pain. 

'Emerson?' he asks, a hand tentatively brushing the younger man's shoulder. 

'Em, wake up!' 

Emerson opens his eyes, but doesn't seem to recognize Joe right away. He keeps thrashing under the sheets and tries to push Joe away. Joe gives him a bit of room to fully wake up, then extends a hand to him again.

'What is wrong, Em?'

'Just a nightmare,' Emerson mumbles, turning away from him, but keeping their hands firmly interlocked.

'About-'

'Yeah.'

'I'm sorry. I didn't know you still-'

'It's fine.' Emerson turns back to him, a strained smile on his face. 'Let's talk about something else.'

'It's okay, we can talk about it.' Joe brushes his fingers over Emerson's cheek.

'I don't want to talk about it, though. Trust me. It's fine.' 

It sounds final and Joe doesn't know what to say anymore so he just scoots closer to Em and holds him close. 

'Okay,' he answers and he doesn't keep track of the time but he's already half-asleep when Emerson stirs again.

\-------------------------------

'Let's go away,' Emerson says abruptly and turns in Joe's arms. He takes Joe's hand, presses it to his mouth and wraps Joe's arm around himself.

'Not like forever,' he continues, smiling. 'But while we have the week off, we should use it to go somewhere. Take a holiday!'

Joe doesn't remember the last time he took a holiday. The idea never appealed to him because there was always work to do and he hates to admit but he never trusted anyone else enough to do it. And what would he even have done?

Stroking a thumb over Emerson's cheek, he contemplates the idea now. Emerson and him, taking a holiday. Somewhere nobody knows them. Taking his hand while walking the sea side. 

'You're right,' he says and if it was only for the sheer brilliance of the smile on Emerson's face, it would've been worth it. He has to kiss him now, even when Emerson is already bubbling over, making plans, but he has to. His fingers tangle in Emerson's soft curls and the younger man melts into him, his excited chatter turning into a long and utterly beautiful sigh. Joe feels … something. Something that feels awfully close to happiness and it should be terrifying but it isn't and he pulls Emerson harder into the embrace. 

'I love you, but come on, we gotta pack!' Emerson exclaims after a while, pushing Joe aside. 

'You mean now?'

'Yeah of course! Best time to drive, isn't it? Streets will be empty.'

He's already up and takes his overnight bag from the closet, stuffing shirts and underwear in there. 

'We're not staying more than 4 days, right? Then we don't have to stop at my place, you know?'

'No … no, I think 4 days is. Good.' 

Joe always has a bag packed for 6 days, for emergencies or when he wants to stay at Emerson's. He never stayed there, but he likes to imagine he would some day. Or Emerson could just move in with Joe, his mind suggests, and he wonders why the idea doesn't even bother him. But that's for another time to think about. Now, he has to check his bag. 

'Look,' Emerson says, laying back on the bed, his hand outstretched, phone angled towards Joe. There's a booking site on, showing some hotel description.

'I didn't know you speak French!'

'Just a bit. Enough to get us a room and some croissants for breakfast tomorrow.' 

Emerson points at the screen where the reviews and ratings are.

'Look baby, literally every single comment mentions how clean it is. And it's won some awards, as well.'

He looks up at Joe, expression hopeful. Joe takes the phone, scrolls through the comments and pictures. It looks perfect, he has to admit. It's also expensive. He cannot imagine Emerson would have ever picked this for himself and he is immensely grateful to him for taking into account his issues but he will not let Emerson spend half his salary on a short trip. He quickly taps through the booking process, putting in his own credit card number, before returning the phone.

Emerson tries to protest but Joe silences him with another kiss. He grabs the keys and now he feels some of the excitement rub off on him.

'Hurry, Em. I've never seen the sunrise at the beach. I want to see it with you.'


	12. Chapter 12

It's a tough choice between kissing Joe forever and actually getting in the car to go on their first holiday, but he manages. Emerson lets down the car windows, the midnight air a welcome breeze on their summer warmed bodies. 

He loves driving with Joe, trusts the man implicitly. One hand on the wheel, Joe's other hand is heavy on Emerson's thigh and he links their fingers together lightly, so Joe could pull away easily if necessary. 

Emerson hums along with some song that's stuck in his head and alternates between looking at the wide empty road ahead of them and looking at Joe to his right, smiling and looking back very shortly every once in a while.

It's perfect, exactly how Emerson always imagined. He reaches one arm out the window until it is completely cold, then presses it to his own overheated neck. Emerson had wanted to turn on the AC right away, except he knows Joe doesn't like it.

The road is dark and Emerson can hardly see anything outside the reach of their flashlights but it really doesn't matter. They're together. He marvels at that fact. Joe is his boyfriend. An unconventional relationship it might be, but it is a relationship. And now they're going on their first holiday. It all seems so fast, ironically after having been in love with Joe for the last two years.

'Wanna get coffee somewhere?'

'I'm good, thank you. But if you want something, I can pull out at the next stop?'

'Yes, please. I need caffeine!'

They're the only ones in the store, except the cashier. Emerson gets a whole carton of iced coffees and an insulated bag to keep them cool for a little longer. Joe eyes him sceptically. On their way back to the car, he says: 'You need rehab for your caffeine addiction.'

Fighting the urge to stick his tongue out at Joe, Emerson elbows him lightly and just laughs.

'Wow, look at the stars, baby!' Emerson stops in his tracks two metres from the car, tugs at Joe's shirt.

\----------------------------------

They settle on a bench next to the car for a short break. Emerson tastes like coffee and vanilla and his curls are a complete mess but one that Joe doesn't mind a bit. He ruffles them and Emerson huffs in protest but lets him. 

Leaning back, Emerson watches the stars and Joe watches Emerson. There's not much light behind the store but the starlight reflects in Emerson's eyes and it might be the most beautiful thing Joe has ever seen, except Emerson's smile maybe. He tugs at him, pulls him into his arms and kisses him again.

'I love you so much, Emerson. Thank you for waiting for me.'


	13. Chapter 13

It's not always easy. To be honest, it's never really easy, but when has it ever been, with him? When he's not having a personal crisis, they have one at work. Sometimes they don't see each other privately for weeks and they take great care not to be too close with each other at work. It's a kiss on the doorstep one night and then a brief touch of their hands in Joe's office two days later. 

'I missed you so much,' Joe confesses when the case is finally closed, the murderer is in prison, the paperwork done, and they lie on the couch together, Emerson's arm around his shoulders. Joe had not expected to miss the physical aspect of their relationship this much.

'I missed you, too, baby.' 

The press of Emerson's lips against his temple is soft and warm and familiar in a way that isn't familiar to Joe at all, but by God, does he want it to be. 

'Move in with me,' he says into the quiet embrace and he is not quite sure if he's said it out loud or if he's only thought it, because Emerson doesn't answer. He turns in Emerson's arms, faces the younger man, makes himself look up and keep his gaze.

'Emerson,' he starts again, 'would you like to move in here? With me?'

'You would like that?' Emerson asks, looking worn out and tired. From work or from living out of overnight bags for months now, Joe can't tell. It's not an easy decision for Emerson, that much he can tell, and fear grips his heart.

'You don't have to say yes, Em. I know it would be … complicated, with me being … me. But I would really like you to live with me. You're here most nights already, and I want you to be here always. I want to come home knowing you'll be there without scheduling dates and worrying about you commuting between here and there.'

'You worry about me?'

'Of course I do. Constantly. I know what London is like.' He shivers. 'Traffic kills more people than even Whitechapel's mad men do.'

Emerson laughs.

'Let me think about it, all right? I'm not saying no.'

Not saying yes, either, Joe thinks to himself, but doesn't say anything more. He curls into Emerson again, his face nestled into the crook of Em's arm. 

Waking with a start, Joe means to grab for Emerson, but his hand comes up empty. He sits up on the sofa and a blanket slides off his lap to the ground. Instinctively, he gets up, folds the blanket and returns it to its place on the armchair in the corner. There's no reason to think that Emerson has gone anywhere but to bed and just didn't want to wake Joe in the process. But still. Joe's heart is beating rapidly as he makes his way to the bedroom, quietly and without turning on the light. 

Emerson is there. His dark curls are splayed over Joe's pillow and he's got his arms around the pillow, hugging it to himself in his sleep. Joe doesn't think he has ever felt so fond of anyone in his life. It aches. He wants to touch but he doesn't want to disturb Em and so he just sits at the edge of the bed for a while, watching his lover sleep and breathe and look completely in place in his home. Hopes that Emerson will consider moving in with him. Hopes to be able to see him like this every night. 

'I love you,' he whispers, so softly that Emerson cannot possibly hear him.


	14. Chapter 14

Emerson wakes up to Joe curled protectively around him, still half dressed in his suit trousers and an undershirt, already awake and kissing him. He says _yes_ instead of _good morning_ and Joe doesn't get it, slips his hand under Emerson's shirt instead, and that's just as well for Emerson. He can explain later. 

Reaching back a hand to keep Joe's head next to his and his mouth on Emerson's neck, Emerson moans. Joe's hands are on his nipples, stroking softly, pulling. He's sensitive there and Joe knows it. Emerson wouldn't be surprised to find a little black notebook somewhere in Joe's desk, filled with neat and detailed description of his erogenous zones and preferences in bed. Well, the ones that Joe knows of, so far.

Emerson's notes on Joe are mental only. He likes being held, needs constant contact and comfort from Emerson. He's into dirty talk, even if he'd never admit it, and never participates. But he does like it when Emerson tells him in excruciating detail what exactly he's planning to do. He likes kissing and some days that's the only thing he likes. Which is fine. Emerson loves kissing Joe and so he turns around to do that.

Brushing his thumbs over Joe's cheeks, Emerson holds his face, kisses him firmly, a long press of lips on lips, still sleep-warm, still a bit dazed, but with certainty. Everything feels slow and heavy and oh so good. Emerson woke up half-hard already and longing is dragging through his limbs, his veins, his mind. He rolls his body languidly against Joe's and Joe gasps very sweetly. His arousal is very obvious and Emerson moves against him with another kiss, their eyes both closed, like a dream, like the best dream Emerson ever had.

It's Joe's hand between them, pushing at Emerson's pyjamas, lightly stroking through the curls at the base of his cock. It's all very tentative but it's unmistakably _there_ and it's indescribably tantalising to have Joe start this, to have Joe touch him without being prompted, without asking, without negotiation.

'Em,' Joe whispers and looks at him, 'what do you want me to do?'

There's trust in his eyes and undeniable desire. It's so raw and open and erotic that Emerson blushes.

'I don't … whatever you want. Whatever you want, baby. I'm yours.'

Joe lets his hand slide deeper into Emerson's pants.

'Would you let me-' he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath, squeezes Emerson's left butt cheek, opens his eyes again, his pupils blown wide, his tongue slipping out to wet his lips. 

'Would you let me fuck you?'

Emerson whimpers. He pulls Joe close again, into a deep kiss, whispering his consent into Joe's mouth, kissing it into his mouth, his jaw, his ears.

'Please fuck me, Joe,' he whispers and Joe shivers, clutching Emerson tightly. 

The idea. Only the idea of Joe fucking him. Emerson groans into Joe's ear. He's lazily rutting into the other man now while Joe seems to think about logistics.

'I'm gonna need … '

Joe kisses an apology into Emerson's hair for leaving his side but he returns quickly, sans shirt but with latex gloves, a bottle of lube and a condom.

It's fucked up but that doesn't mean that Emerson isn't completely turned on by Joe's need for cleanliness in this exact moment. The thought of these long, slender fingers in his arse. 

The air is stifling and Emerson shucks his own shirt before crawling over to where Joe is sitting on the edge of the bed. He presses himself to Joe's back, brings his arms around the other's neck to take his hands in his own. Kissing the fingertips of Joe's right hand, Emerson makes sure to catch Joe's eye and sucks two of his fingers into his mouth. 

The sharp taste of the latex. Joe's harsh breaths when Emerson trails his tongue over and between his fingers. The sheer want in Joe's gaze and the way he licks his lips while his eyes stays locked on Emerson's mouth. It's all nothing, compared to knowing that this is going to be Joe's first time. That Emerson is the first person he'll ever fuck. That he is the first person to ever do this to him, make him shiver and gasp with need. 

\--------------------------

Emerson strips. It's not the first time Joe has seen him strip, but something about this morning makes everything seem new. Maybe it's the way that Emerson stretches himself out on the covers, on his belly, his head pillowed on his arms, looking back at Joe with half-lidded eyes. Maybe it's because he looks comfortable like this. Because he's not hiding anything anymore. Because he lets Joe see and lets him touch comfortably.

Joe leans down to kiss the first scar that runs over Emerson's right thigh, just above the knee. Kisses the other thigh as well. He continues his way upwards, reverently stroking his hands along with kissing the fading red welts in Emerson's skin. He kisses apologies into his skin, sympathy, understanding. He's got his own scars, even if they're not as easily visible. But Emerson sees them and Joe wants to show him he sees Emerson, too. A tear escapes his eye and drops on Emerson's butt.

'Still not your fault, Joe,' Emerson says, but he's smiling and reaches for Joe to come up and kiss him.

'Now,' he whispers into Joe's ear, 'why don't you put those pretty hands to some good use, baby?'

He wriggles his butt and Joe can't help but laugh even though he knows he must be blushing. Humour helps, he has realized some time ago. Emerson's humour helps. 

He squeezes some lube into his hand, coats his fingers with it. He doesn't know exactly what he's doing but every article he has read recommended liberal use, so that's what he's going to do. Emerson pushes into his touch and Joe runs his finger through his crack a few times. It's all slick and wet and he tries pushing his finger inside.

'Jesus Christ, Em! I thought … '

Emerson hums in satisfaction, urging Joe to press deeper inside, pushing up into his hand.

'Hmm, you thought it'd be harder? It's easy if you're relaxed. If you trust your partner. Oh!' He moans when Joe drags his finger out again, catching on his rim, pushing in and out shallowly a few times. 

It fascinates him to see his finger disappear into the other man's body. Joe looks up at Emerson's face, eyes closed in bliss and completely relaxed. He pushes in deep again, groans at the tightness that envelops him.

'Imagine,' Emerson moans on the upstroke. 'Imagine how tight it will be for your cock. How you can fill me completely. Do you want that?'

Joe's reply is barely spoken, just a breath of confirmation. He's never wanted it like this, never thought about it before Emerson, but he wants it now, wants to be with Emerson, in Emerson, wants to completely unite with him.

He leans back, to a dissatisfied whimper when he has to pull out his finger. Pressing a kiss to Emerson's butt, he fumbles with the condom, and the lube. He takes off the gloves, lets them fall off the side of the bed, surprised that it doesn't bother him. It will, but not when Emerson is laid out in front of him, his arse propped up on a pillow, looking back at him enticingly.

Emerson spreads his legs a little wider and Joe takes that as the invitation it is, to prop himself up over him, kissing Em's shoulder, his back, and guiding his cock to Em's hole. Leaning his forehead to Emerson's back, he watches as his cock enters Em's body. He has to take a steadying breath at the sheer heat of it. It's so hot and tight and he can feel Emerson becoming impatient, pressing up into him, and he's pressing back until he's fully sheathed in him, fully immersed in Emerson's body. 

\-----------------------

'Joe, God, please move,' Emerson moans, almost begs. Sweat is gathering at his temples because Joe is hot, and not just figuratively. He's pressed all along Emerson's body, enveloping him completely, and deep in him. He knew it was going to be good but this is even better, and when Joe starts to move in him, long, careful strokes, he hits all the right spots.

'How does it feel, Joe?' he asks and he has to ask again because Joe only whimpers, only presses open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach. 

'Good. Hot. _Perfect_.' comes the reply at last.

'You're perfect,' Emerson sighs and burrows his head into the soft pillow while languidly rolling his hips against Joe's who's breathing is coming faster and faster. 

'Let go, baby, it's alright. Fuck, you're good at this! Come on, give it to me,' he encourages Joe and Joe obeys, fucks into him harder and faster, their moans and curses filling the room.

'Emerson,' Joe stutters and his thrusts become irregular, his hands clamp down on Emerson's hips and he stills, pulsing deeply inside Emerson. 

'Kiss me,' Emerson sighs and Joe means to comply, wants to turn Emerson around, pulls out too fast, and they both wince. 

'Sorry, I'm-'

'Don't worry, doesn't matter. Come here.'

He pulls Joe on top of him again. His cock is aching for attention but he wants to kiss Joe and that's all that matters right now. It's sloppy and wet, Joe practically melting into him, both still in a haze.

'D'you want me to … ?' Joe slurs and Emerson smiles at him.

'I want to take a shower. With you, if you feel like it.'

\-----------------------------

He watches Emerson get up and stretch, holding out a hand in invitation, and of course he takes it. On the way to the bathroom, into the shower and until they're under the yet cool spray of water they don't stop touching. When the water slowly turns warner, Joe steps in front of Emerson, kisses him shortly and reaches behind him for the soap. He works it to a lather in his hands and runs them all over Emerson's body.

Em's breath hitches when Joe soaps up his cock and slips a wet finger into his loose hole. His cock gets hard again quickly under Joe's ministrations, combined with hot and very wet kisses to his face, neck, and shoulders.

Carefully kneeling down before his lover, Joe runs his hands along Em's thighs. Emerson looks at him bewildered, but has to catch his breath when Joe continues stroking him to full hardness.

'I … but you don't like … '

Joe just smiles at him. It's true, the first time he's tried giving Emerson a blowjob had been a real disaster. They'd tried a few times after that but Joe just didn't enjoy it. It was too much, too close to his face. He'd almost thrown up the first time he'd tried to swallow, but cumming anywhere else near his face wasn't an option. And he couldn't stand the chemical taste of the condom either, so he'd just stopped trying.

'I want to, today. It could work, in the shower. If I can wash off right after, you know? Can I try?'

'Yes, oh my God, of course! Please, help yourself,' Emerson laughs and spreads his arms in welcome, nudging his groin forward just a little bit.

Joe leans in to press a soft kiss to the tip of Em's cock, licks a stripe down the upside and breathes in. The smell isn't so overwhelming here, mixed with the smell of soap and he really thinks this could work. He knows his movements are a bit awkward when he takes Em in his mouth, but Emerson moans nevertheless and braces himself against the shower wall with one hand, the other lightly cradling Joe's head. He doesn't put any pressure on him, though, and Joe silently thanks him for that. 

Just like the water streaming down on them, now comfortably hot and steady, Emerson showers Joe with praise, very gentle words of guidance, and minute details of how it felt to have Joe fuck him earlier that almost get Joe hard again himself. 

He groans around Emerson's cock and the other man whimpers, holds him just a little tighter and warns him. Joe sucks him once more before popping off, happy to breathe freely again, working his jaw to relieve the unfamiliar ache of having his mouth stretched for so long. He keeps pumping Emerson's cock with his fist and it doesn't take long until Em is coming with a hiss, his cum landing mostly on Joe's chest but also a bit on his turned away face. 

'My God, Joe,' he moans and helps Joe up but keeps him away from the spray. 

'Can you wait for just a moment? I want to …' he starts and is kissing Joe, licking into his mouth and like this, Joe thinks, yes, he can probably wait for a moment.

Emerson starts licking at his lips, then his cheek, then travels down his neck to lap at his chest, cleaning him with soft kitten licks. Joe could never let this happen in any other context, but with the water still running and the soap just a grab away, he can. He finds he enjoys it, even. Emerson clearly loves it, and Joe would know even if Emerson wasn't continually praising him, and telling him how good he is. It's in his eyes. The pure bliss at getting to touch and taste Joe (and himself) the way he always wanted. Joe regrets that he can't always give all of this to Emerson, but at least he can do it like this now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next (and thus last) chapter is just a tiny epilogue. I hope you all enjoyed this story and please let me know in the comments, even if it's just a scream 😅 Also, come talk to me on tumblr, I'm zwergenmaedchen there as well 😊


	15. Chapter 15

It's never easy. Not that it has ever been easy for either of them. But it works. It works well and they work well together, so well that Emerson fancies maybe they're actually good for each other. 

'I love you,' he says, pulling Joe into a sweaty embrace after they are finally done putting away all of Emerson's stuff. They're going to shower together in a minute, Emerson knows that's what Joe will need, but for now he lets Emerson embrace him and it's perfect. They are going to shower and then they are going to go to bed together and then they are going to wake up together, have breakfast together, go to work together and then … Then they will come home together. Their home.


End file.
